


From Darkness Into Light

by Jedi Buttercup (jedibuttercup)



Category: The Huntsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Magic, True Love's Kiss, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Yuletide 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 08:32:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8972185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/pseuds/Jedi%20Buttercup
Summary: It had been seven years since Sara's death and his exile from the frozen North.  And only seven weeks since a raven-haired girl with desperate eyes and a heart of fire had begged Eric for help, and in so doing illuminated the path out of his own despair.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lizzen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/gifts).



> Written as a treat in Yuletide 2016. Because I was a believer in True Love's kiss, too: a fixit that diverges at the beginning of the sequel part of Winter's War, taking its backstory into account.

It had hurt like the devil's own fire to leave Snow White's castle behind after her coronation. Like waking up in the river again, all those years ago, after being torn from Sara's side and disposed of like so much garbage. That made little sense from a logical perspective, Eric knew; he'd barely begun to get to know the Princess, rode to war only the once at her side, while Sara had been his friend and equal in battle for many years before their too-brief marriage. But there was little logic in matters of the heart. And what he'd felt—

Well, it hadn't taken Duke Hammond's pointed hints and William's yearning looks for him to realize those feelings would eventually cause trouble if he stayed. Him, the consort of a Queen, when the highest surviving noble's only son and childhood friend of said Queen was ready and willing to cast himself at her feet? For all that the land loved her, Snow had been raised to womanhood in Ravenna's cells, and knew little of the matter of ruling; her marriage to William would unite the people's fond memories of her father with the most visible symbol of resistance during Ravenna's reign, and solidify the foundation for her own reign to follow.

Compared to the prosperity of an entire kingdom, one huntsman's heart could be allowed to weigh very little. Had matters been otherwise, Eric would gladly have made the same vow to her that he once had to Sara; that stand or fall, he would remain always at her side. But perhaps it was better that he hadn't had that chance, given what had come of that earlier promise. He had a terrible record of being able to protect that which he loved.

He'd ridden out just after he'd seen the crown placed on Snow's head, unwilling to watch her wed another, and left no word but with the dwarves of where he planned to go. He'd felt it would be best to make a clean break. So what, then, was William doing in his refuge, seeking him out on this day of all days? 

It had been seven years since Sara's death and his exile from the frozen North. And only seven weeks since a raven-haired girl with desperate eyes and a heart of fire had begged Eric for help, and in so doing illuminated the path out of his own despair — not that either of them had made it easy. Too soon for him to return, in either case. But he supposed there must be some bit of business yet to settle regarding his official role in Snow White's kingdom. Eric turned his back on the stone monument he'd made to both his loves, leaving a flower behind to mark the visit, and walked slowly to where the young Lord — Prince Consort now, he supposed — dismounted from his horse, flanked by a professional-looking band of soldiers.

He looked well, though grimly determined about something; dressed more finely than before, his lean archer's frame starting to fill out a bit more now that he was no longer roaming the highways ambushing Ravenna's men. Eric had nothing against William in particular; he'd stood up better than most young men could have under his father's despair, his own misplaced guilt, and the suffering of the people he'd felt responsible for since he was about the age Eric was when the Ice Queen took him. Eric could even admit William would make a fine protector for Snow; he just didn't want to pay witness to it. He'd thought they'd been in agreement about that.

"Your Majesty," he said as he approached, inclining his head toward the other man in polite greeting.

Something about his words seemed to startle William, though; the young nobleman's eyes went wide, and he stilled in the middle of handing his reins off to one of his men. "You really _didn't_ know, did you?" he asked by way of reply, his tone surprised and strangely pained.

"Know what?" Eric shook his head, brow furrowing. "I haven't heard aught from the castle since I left; is something wrong?"

William shook his head, a wry curl at the corner of his mouth. "Yes ... and no. I do come on a matter of grave importance, but if you truly haven't heard — then there is another matter I must apprise you of first, one I suspect you will find of much more interest."

"By all means, give me the interesting news first," Eric replied lightly, though his puzzlement deepened. "Though if you're looking for gravely important people, I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place."

William's smile deepened, though it failed to touch his eyes. "You say that now. You will not be saying so when you return to the castle, I fear."

"But ... I'm _not_ returning to the castle," Eric replied, slowly. "I have no business there, even if your father hadn't rung a peal over my head on the subject. Now what are you on about?"

Two of the soldiers behind William exchanged a wide-eyed glance, then studiously looked away from each other; Eric's eyebrows rose as William himself gave a choked-off, bitter laugh. "Don't repeat that to Snow; there's enough friction between them as it is. He still can't stop treating her as the eight-year-old we left behind half the time, and she finds it increasingly difficult to bear the condescension. Especially after the way he reacted to the failure of the handfasting ceremony."

His gaze was perfectly, bleakly steady as he spoke that last piece of arrant impossibility, and Eric felt his world begin to tilt on its ear. They _weren't_ married? How was that possible?

The handfasting ceremony was the ritual marriage each member of a kingdom's ruling bloodline went through before the public wedding, to tie their new spouse into the land's magic and ensure its blessing would continue to their children. It was said that that tie was the reason the previous Queen's petition — spread in hushed whispers afterward, by the attendants who'd been in the garden that day — had borne fruit in Snow herself, after many years of barrenness. And also the reason the land had been so badly poisoned after Ravenna turned on Snow's father and slew him. For Snow's ritual to fail, the land itself would have had to reject William; no wonder the young man was carrying himself so stiffly. That didn't explain why he'd come to Eric, though.

"I don't understand," he said. Surely all the Duke's objections to Eric's presence still applied?

"I think you do," William said dryly, glancing away. "Don't tell me you didn't realize — not after what happened in my father's chapel. There's only one known way to revive someone from that kind of curse. And it certainly wasn't me, whatever my father tried to say about delayed reactions. _Someone_ woke her. And when the ritual broke...." He swallowed, and gave Eric a pained look. "She said your name."

The breath caught in Eric's throat, and the chain of Sara's necklace seemed to suddenly increase in weight a hundredfold. "True Love's Kiss. Then she ... then I...."

"Are already betrothed, as far as the land's magic is concerned?" William inclined his head, then swept a majestic bow in Eric's direction, one corner of his mouth curling up in a wry smile. " _Your Majesty_."

"You canna be serious," Eric objected, torn between disbelief and hope. "Stand up, man. I'm just a huntsman! Surely your father—"

"Has no say in this," William shrugged. "No matter what he told you before. It's between you, and Snow, and the land — and they need you, Eric. That's why I came."

"The matter of grave importance." Eric glanced automatically toward the soldiers — but not a one of them was suppressing a smile or a sneer of contempt; every last one was watching him with grim attention, as though what he chose to do next really _did_ affect the fate of the entire kingdom. It _wasn't_ a joke.

"Yes," William replied, simply.

It ... wasn't a joke. Eric's hand came up to press against his leather shirt, over the talisman his first wife had presented him as token of their freely offered consent. Her only treasure; her mother's necklace, embossed with the triune faces of the Maiden, Mother and Crone. He had truly loved Sara: with the devotion of a friendship grown from childhood, and as the only good thing he'd known in a world plagued by death and loss. And here William was saying that even if she'd been his True Love then, she wasn't any longer; their time had passed. He now belonged to another.

He'd known that already, on some level — but he hadn't been ready to face it, to let go the last claim he had on the love of his youth. But he also couldn't continue on carrying the weight of loss like the comfortable and well-worn burden it was; not now that he knew there were consequences to more than just his own wounded heart.

Eric reached up to remove the necklace, pulling it from beneath his shirt under the soldiers' curious gaze, and clutched it until he could feel the embossed figures bite into his palm. Then he touched briefly it to his lips, and took it off, tucking it away in a pocket. "All right then," he said. "Tell me what I need to know."

William nodded, a curious mixture of sympathy and jealousy in his gaze. "Walk with me," he said.

Once they were out of earshot of the others, he explained — and Eric immediately wished he had not.

"The Mirror is gone," William said. "We'd believed that its dark magic had died with Ravenna, but we were wrong. There is an evil within it that has only grown in power. Snow vowed to rid the kingdom of it before its darkness could not be stopped, but your leaving with the marriage bond ... incomplete ... had weakened her. She began to feel unwell; she said she could hear the Mirror speaking to her in Ravenna's voice. Two weeks ago, she ordered a detachment of soldiers to take it to Sanctuary where its darkness could be contained, but they never returned, and she can feel its power still."

"Does she want me to find it, then?" Eric asked, torn between conflicting desires once more — to destroy that which threatened her, and to fly at once to her side.

"No," William shook his head. "I know there is no better tracker in the kingdom, but the men I have with me should be adequate to the task. Yours is to return to the castle with all speed. If your being there can in any way help her fend off the Mirror's influence...." He stopped with a wince.

"William...." If Eric had been the one having to say such words, he doubted he'd have managed to be so courteous. "I won't apologize, because that would mean being sorry I didn't let her die, and I won't lie to you any more than I would her. But I _am_ sorry for your pain. That was never my intention."

That drew another smile out of William; sadder, but more genuine. "I know. Just — be worthy of her, all right? And try not to antagonize my father. She'll need you; and you'll need him if the kingdom's to fully recover."

"Of course," Eric nodded. "And keep yourself in one piece; she'll need you too, as her oldest and dearest friend."

"Of course," William nodded back, offering his arm for a solemn handclasp.

They parted a moment later, each to their duties: William and his men riding toward Sanctuary; Eric on the horse he'd taken from an idiot of a poacher, on his way home.

+

_(Behind him, a white-petaled flower caught in a light breeze tumbled to the ground._

_Its fall was marked only by the blank eyes of a strange white owl, perching in the branches above.)_

+

He wasn't sure what to expect when he reached the castle. He'd met with several travelers on the road, far more than he ever would have in the dark years between his arrival in Ravenna's kingdom and the golden queen's downfall, and every one of them had bowed to him the instant they'd realized who he was. But not from fear, the way people had in the White Lands when he'd passed them about Queen Freya's business; with recognition, respect, and not a little hope.

It was true, then; not that he'd doubted William's word, but it was still a great deal to take in. Eric had been a Queen's Man since he was big enough to wrap his hand around the hilt of a sword, though he'd done a poor job of it those years he'd spent drowning his sorrows. Being _the_ Queen's man, though. Alone in the woods with Snow, he'd snarled at her like an equal, and she'd done him the honor of responding in kind. If he tried that at court, he was liable to get himself challenged, whatever the land and its magic thought. Had the Forest Lord gone mad after Finn's cowardly attack in Sanctuary? Surely, a mistake had been made here.

The smallfolk, though: it was clear they knew something had happened. That he was the reason the Queen was yet unwed was apparent from their behavior, but they'd have been in a more jocular mood to see him if that had been their only concern. They knew there was more, even if it was only that she hadn't been seen in public for a time, and it worried them; and that worried _him_. The guards at the gates, when he reached the castle, were worse; they seemed to have every intention of escorting him to the audience hall without answering any of his questions, and he had no desire to face Duke Hammond again before he could do so with Snow at his side.

Eric slipped away from them as quickly as he could manage, heading for the place where his instincts told him he would find her. Where the Mirror had been housed for so many years; where he and William had fought Ravenna's magical guards — and Snow had slain the usurper before the sorceress could take her soul. The castle wasn't as poorly staffed now as it had been then, but the few folk he was unable to avoid along the way were fortunately Snow's people, not Hammond's. Each of them pointed him in the right direction and did not attempt to interfere. The last, Greta, was waiting outside the door to Ravenna's former chambers; she gave him a solemn, evaluating look, then nodded and took a pointed few steps down the hall.

Eric remembered his first glimpse of Snow in those rooms after Ravenna's death: pale and resolute in borrowed mail and leather trousers, hair pulled back in a snug braid, a young and beautiful warrior mourning her first kill. He'd wanted to gather her close, tell her she'd only done what had been necessary; but also to take her to the training yards and put her through forms until she was too exhausted to feel it, the way he'd been treated as a child. He hadn't dared to actually offer her either.

He remembered the way she'd looked at the coronation ceremony as well, the last time their gazes had met: regally resplendent in red velvet embroidered in gold, a flowering branch in her hands and a circlet studded with jewels set upon her brow. There had been tears in her eyes then; he'd thought to sneak out before she could see him go, but she'd noticed. Aye, she'd noticed; and stood her ground like the Queen she was. How could he be worthy of such a woman?

He shook his head, then pushed the door open — and came to a halt, taking in the sight of her seated on the steps below the altar, knees pulled up and arms curled around them. "Snow," he murmured, pained by the lost look on her face and the dark circles visible under her eyes even at that distance.

Snow White looked up at the sound of his voice, gaze weary but clear. Like that of a woman slowly mending from a long illness — or herself, actually, back at the beginning, when he'd dragged her from under the roots of a tree in the Dark Forest. She stared back for a long moment at the sight of him, a hand pressed to her chest as though her breath had caught in her chest; then a smile lit behind her eyes, sweeping over her like the dawn breaking over the horizon. She didn't stand — there was no telling how long she'd been sitting there, so that did not surprise him — but she straightened in her seat, stretching out an arm in his direction.

"Huntsman." Her voice was warm and trembling with emotion; it shattered against something fragile inside him, and he found himself across the room before he was even aware of moving.

The huntsman dropped to one knee before his queen and took her hands in his. "Princess."

Her eyes scanned hungrily over his face, taking in every detail of the changes seven weeks had wrought. "He found you. I thought he must have; I've felt more myself today than I have in weeks."

It was one thing to live in a world where sorceresses could shatter men as ice and suck the vitality from the earth; it was another to see the effect of such deep magic on those he loved, and know himself at least in part to blame. "But why did you not send for me sooner? If I'd but known, I'd never have gone from your side."

A rueful smile curved that rosebud mouth, beckoning a hand up to cup her pale cheek. "Because you would not have left. Because I did not wish to trap you in this place, yoked to but an echo of your true choice, until regret quenched the fire in your heart and all warmth for me faded."

A chill crept through Eric's veins as he realized what that meant; all that time they'd thought her dead, and later assumed her to be in a cursed slumber, she'd been aware of everything happening around her. It wasn't what she'd heard him say — though he knew he'd never have been so open if she was awake, and he regretted that misunderstanding had caused her pain — but everything else that she must have endured from the moment of her fall until her waking that gave him pause. Because of _course_ Ravenna had woven malice into that spell, as in all others. He'd thought Freya cruel, but he hadn't known what cruelty was until he met her sister.

He stroked his thumb over the soft skin along Snow's cheekbone, choosing his words carefully in response. Had it not been for the land's magic, he might have been able to hide it — but True Love's Kiss had not created what was not there, it had merely revealed its full potential, will they nil they. "It is true, I did not seek what I found in you. But that's just life; a life I was not living until you reminded me how. Some part of me chose you the moment you first spat defiance in my face, and will go on choosing you until we are parted by forces too great for mortal man to resist. It tore my heart to leave you, and I would not willingly do so again."

Eric would not promise her forever; he'd learned better than to tempt fate in such a manner. But he would give her everything he could, if she but allowed it.

Tears welled once more in Snow's eyes. "I kissed her," she said abruptly, her cheek turning against his hand as if seeking comfort. "In the forest. She brought me an apple; I thought she was William. She said such things as I should have known he would never say — and I kissed him anyway, for the sheer relief of being with him again, and being free. And I died for it."

"Snow...." He did not know to what end she was confessing; but the pain in her caught him with the same hook, and he gathered her as close as he could, holding her against his heart.

She gave a wet laugh, pressing her face against his throat. "I thought at first that that was why the ritual failed; that I hesitated out of some fearful remembrance. But then I said your name — and I _remembered_. And not just the kiss. Teasing me before the battle; coming back for me through fire and storm of arrows; showing me how to wield a knife; even asking me to question my father's legacy. If I do become the Queen this kingdom needs, it will be because of you. I don't care that you're a huntsman; I don't even care that you think all royalty is damned, and I'm asking you — I'm _cursing_ you to join the same fate. You give me _courage_ , Eric."

He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath, feeling the wetness of her tears against his collarbone. "You forget; I was damned already. And you had courage long before I met you. I only helped you aim it properly toward the enemy — and I did not do so alone."

She pulled back at those words, smiling up at him, still as beautiful as ever: not an ugly crier, his Snow. She was a slight, vital weight against him, utterly feminine but still stronger than most men he'd known. 

... It definitely could be said that he had a type, he thought, bemused.

"But you alone did so not out of guilt, or duty, or the memory of my father," Snow said, reaching up to trace his jawline with delicate fingertips. But even there, she was more than she appeared: he could feel the ridges of new sword calluses catching in his beard. "And so I ask you: will you stay with me, my huntsman?"

"If you will have me, my Queen," he replied, and gave in at last to hot-blooded impulse. He knew little of ordinary marriage, having been raised to war — but 'completing' a marriage bond required no explanation, and she was a well-shaped, delightful armful, squirming against him fit to drive any man mad. It seemed suddenly the most unreasonable thing in the world that he had only kissed her once; she was his, and he was hers, and the fact that they were sitting in the exact spot where she'd conquered her greatest foe only made it all the sweeter.

It was long seconds later before they came up for air, prompted by the clearing of a throat in the doorway. Snow looked up and blushed to see her chief lady-in-waiting eyeing them, eyebrows arched in pointed disapproval offsetting the smile tugging at her mouth.

"Apologies, Greta!" The queen laughed, then pulled away just enough to brace her hands on Eric's broad shoulders and use him as a buttress to climb to her feet. "I didn't intend to get carried away."

He followed carefully after she'd found her balance, keeping her in front of him so as to conceal his state from the lady's eyes. "Of course you did," he grinned. "What you mean to say is, you didn't intend to do so in public. I suppose I won't be able to escape the ceremony now?"

"I'm afraid not," she replied, the light in her brightening even as he watched; the contrast to when he'd arrived the difference between night and day. Then she licked her lips, glancing down the length of him. "To be followed, perhaps, by a kiss that does _not_ taste of the ocean?"

"Where's the fun in that?" he said, delighted by her teasing. "But I suppose if that's what you desire...."

She laughed, a sound like the ringing of bells; it resonated in his chest and drew a spirit of mischief from him in turn. Well, then; to begin in joy rather than tears seemed an omen worth taking hold of. Eric scooped her up in his arms and turned back to Greta.

"If you'll direct me to the great hall from here, my good woman?" he prompted her.

"Eric!" Snow objected, thumping a fist against his chest.

"Do you want your happily ever after, or not?" he scoffed, looking down at her.

"You do not play fair, sir!" she replied.

"And you expected otherwise? _Now_ she tells me," he heaved a mock-sigh. And to think, but a few days ago he'd still been mourning her loss. If William had not come to him—

He shook off the thought and followed a giggling Greta out of the room with a much-lightened heart.

+

_(Half the kingdom away, in a rough-hewn tavern, another huntsman shivered._

_Freya had promised revenge, but all the archer could feel, watching her beautiful, noble, treacherous young mark share a drink with his men, was a sense of bittersweet loss._

_Perhaps it was time Sara finally sought her own freedom, instead.)_

+


End file.
